The Devil's Trick
by But Friends Make Secrets
Summary: Peter discovers just how little he knows about his friend and partner, and now he's on a quest to fix it.
1. Date Night

_"The greatest trick the devil ever pulled, was convincing the world that he didn't exist."_

* * *

Elizabeth Burke sighed. Peter had another huge case, which meant another week of lonely nights for his wife. Normally she would bury herself in as much work as her husband had, but it had been a slow month, leaving her little to do other than sit and watch movies with Satchmo. She considered calling one of her friends, but knew they all had their own busy lives and schedules. No one could just stop what they were doing to keep her company. Leaning back onto the couch, El stared at her living room ceiling. After this week, Peter better be planning one hell of a date night.

Date night…

Shooting up, the woman smiled. _That's it!_ Quickly grabbing her phone, she dialed swiftly and waited for the other line to pick up. After a few rings, a smooth voice answered.

"Hello?"

"Hey Neal! It's El."

"El?" She could hear the ex-con's confusion. "Do you need to talk to Peter?"

"No, no. Actually…" Deviously, El smiled. "I need you to get a message to someone…"

* * *

The next night, the doorbell of the Burke's home chimed. Elizabeth eagerly answered the door, chuckling when she saw no one.

"I saw a mockingbird in the park today!"

"What color was it?" A voice called out in the darkness.

El frowned slightly. "Um… blue? No wait, indigo! Uh, which one means we're not being watched again?"

Mozzie stepped out of his hiding place, a small smile on his face. "Mrs. Suit, your attempt to comply with my demands is duly noted." He glanced through the doorway. "Mr. Suit's not here?"

Shaking her head, El gestured the smaller man to come inside. "He and Neal have some case they're working on."

"Ah yes, the forgery ring. Neal told me about that."

Nodding, the woman continued. "Yeah, so I have no idea when Peter's going to be back and I've been kind of lonely."

"One may have a blazing hearth in one's soul, and yet no one ever comes to sit by it." Elizabeth glanced at him, questioningly. "Van Gogh."

"Ah," She nodded. "Anyway, I remembered what fun we had on our 'date night', so I figured, why not have another."

"Well, assuming this isn't a setup, who am I to decline." He lifted a bottle. "Wine?"

"Neal's?"

"Of course."

"Then yes please."

* * *

Laughter rang through the house. Who would have guessed Elizabeth Burke, wife of an FBI agent, would have so much fun with the paranoid little man.

"Really? All to raise some sense of patriotism?"

"Mrs. Suit, do not undermine the importance of political moral. If a moon landing was what it would take to bring the country together, well they had just the green screens to pull it off."

El laughed again, taking another sip of wine. The bottle was almost empty. "You know what I've been wondering? How on Earth are you and Neal friends?"

Moz chuckled. "No question is so difficult to answer as that to which the answer is obvious." Shrugging, he poured himself another glass of wine. "We just… are. For unexplainable reasons, we just get along."

"Hmmm…." El pondered for a second. "How did you meet?"

"Now, that is a good story…"

As Moz began his tale, neither heard the soft click of the front door opening.

* * *

**Alright, so here's the deal. This takes place mid season two. It was originally just speculation, but judging by the previews of next weeks episode, it is soon to be full blown AU. XP See, I already have a few chapters written, a few started, and the rest outlined. So while I will eventually be covering the events in Point Blank, I'll probably ignore everything after that. Artistic liberties and what-not. **

**Regardless, I hope you enjoy! I don't particularly care for this chapter, so if my schedule ever allows for it I'll probably re-write it. Any suggestions, tips, criticisms and the like are vastly appreciated! Thanks all! ~BFMS**


	2. Forging Friends

_Mozzie stared intently at the painting before him. He had spent the last hour carefully mixing varnish and paint to achieve the correct ratio. A friend of his had offered to pay him to age a forged painting for him. The bald man had agreed, running a little low on funds for the month. The piece was big, too difficult for the small man to move alone, and to make matters worse it was raining outside, making the painting impossible to move for at least a day. That meant he was stuck in a drafty, abandoned warehouse when he could be warm and comfortable in Sunday, his Saturday safe house. _

_Shivering slightly, he zipped his jacked up higher around his chin. Adjusting his glasses slightly, Moz began painting the varnish over the painting. He had barely started when suddenly a door behind him slammed open. Whipping around, he watched as a teenager, soaking wet, ran into the room before quickly shoving the door shut against the storm outside. The kid was tall and far too thin. He wore tattered jeans and a stained black hoody. Long, dark brown hair that almost reached his shoulders was pin straight from the water weighing it down. The boy shivered, a small puddle forming beneath him._

_Mere moments after his arrival, the figure looked up, and Moz found himself staring into stunning, clear blue eyes. The man's eyes filled with suspicion and panic at being found, the younger's filled with exhaustion and just a bit of fear. Then, the brunette's eyes flickered to the painting. Astonishment suddenly filled his face and his voice was laced with disbelief._

"_You're __**kidding **__me."_

_Suspicion and paranoia raced through Moz's veins, not that that was unusual. The boy sighed, wringing his hair out before doing the same to his clothes. Even with just a little water removed, Mozzie discovered that the boy's hair wasn't straight at all, but was actually quite curly. Giving up his mission of getting any drier, the teenager began sauntering towards the man. _

"_Is that _Arria and Poetus_?"_

_Mozzie blinked in surprise, swiftly looking between the boy and the painting. "Uh, yeah?" He shook his head. Why was he answering the kid? He needed to get rid of him! "Wait, no. You need to leave! Get out of here!"_

_Apparently he wasn't very convincing because the kid snorted. "Please, after all the time it took me to find you?"_

"_Find me?" Suspicion overload. Paranoia now in hyper drive. "Who sent you? What do they want? How did they find me?" He was always so careful…_

"_Whoa, calm down." Hands were thrown up in a gesture of peace. "I didn't mean __**you **__specifically."_

"…_oh." Normal levels of paranoia restored. "Well, regardless, go away. Go home!"_

_Rolling his eyes, the teen turned around. "Fine."_

_Moz sighed with relief at how easy that had been, when suddenly, after taking two steps, the boy abruptly spun on his heels to face the criminal again. With a sly grin, he threw his arms out._

"_Honey, I'm home!"_

_It was a bit difficult to speak with his jaw on the ground. "You live here?"_

_A shrug. "I live wherever the wind takes me. And tonight a storm dropped me off here. And of course, without even trying, I find the person I need."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I want to get into the business."_

_Whatever Moz had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Business?"_

"_Yeah, you know. Forgery, counterfeiting, stuff like that."_

_The bald man frowned. "Why would you want to do that? I don't know what movies you've seen, but crime isn't all fun and games. 'Fear follows crime, and is its punishment'."_

"_Voltaire?" The boy asked with a raised eyebrow._

"_Don't change the subject."_

_Secretly, Moz was impressed. This kid identified the painting that was forged and knew who he was quoting. He was obviously intelligent, which begged the question…_

"_Why do you want to become a criminal?"_

"_Because I'm good at it."_

"…_What?"_

_The boy sighed. "I'm good at forging. Well, art at least. I don't really know about other stuff, but paintings, sculpture, stuff like that, I'm good at."_

"_Then, why do you need me?"_

"_Again, not you specifically. I just need someone already in the business, to help get me in. See? Picking pockets can only get me so far, I need to fry some bigger fish."_

_Moz thought for a second before sighing. "Fine, I'll help you establish some contacts. But-" He raised a finger, "you have to stick with me for awhile. My conscious wont let me live with myself if I assist in getting you killed."_

_Smiling a perfect conman's smile, the boy replied. "I was hoping you'd say that." At the confused look the man gave him, he continued. "Hey, I said I was good, not that I didn't have anything to learn from someone who's better." _

_Damn, the kid was a charmer, and a good one at that. Moz had no doubt that with that smile and those eyes he could get anything he wanted. He'd already snagged Moz, hadn't he?_

"_How old are you kid?"_

"_17."_

"_Really?" He asked skeptically. 15 maybe, but he looked younger._

"_Why would I lie?" The boy asked with a raised eyebrow. "If I'm older, I wouldn't lie about being younger. And if I'm younger, why wouldn't I lie and say I'm 18 to make myself a legal adult?"_

_Accepting this logic, the older man shrugged before holding out a hand. "I'm Mozzie. Or Moz. Whichever."_

_Grasping his hand, the boy smiled. "Good to meet you."_

"_And what do I call you?"_

_His smile grew, and his eyes gleamed deviously._

"_I haven't decided yet._

_

* * *

_

_It wasn't until a week later, as they were walking together to one of Mozzie's safe houses for the night, that the boy sprouted randomly,_

"_Neal Caffrey."_

_Turning to gaze quizzically at his companion, Moz was met with a sly smile. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"_

_The older con laughed and shook hands with the boy once more. "Nice to meet you, 'Neal'."_

_

* * *

_

"Are you serious?"

El and Moz turned in shock to find none other than Agent Peter Burke standing in the doorway, having overheard the story. His face was full of shock.

"_Neal Caffrey _is just an **alias**?"

* * *

**Oh, deary Mozzie is hard to write (Well, for me at least. XP). Sigh, yet another chapter screaming for me to re-write it better. But, perhaps you disagree. Or extremely agree and feel like telling why. Either way, reviews are always awesome! xoxo ~BFMS**


	3. Challenge Accepted

Moz quickly stood. "I fear I've said too much."

"Oh no," Peter blocked the doorway, "you're not getting away that easily. You're saying 'Neal Caffrey' isn't Neal's real name?"

The bald man fidgeted nervously. "Well, yeah. I thought it was common knowledge. I mean, you chased him for three years, suit, you never figured that out?"

Shaking his head, Peter stood in shock. When he was chasing Neal he had made it his mission to know everything about the conman. But after everything he learned, shoe size and coffee preferences and so much more, he now discovered that he didn't even know his _name._ There was something disturbing about that.

Without his noticing, Moz had inched past him. "Yes well, we all have our flaws. Mrs. Suit, it's been fun. We should do it again sometime." And with that, the smaller man bolted.

"So…" Elizabeth started awkwardly, smiling nervously at her husband. "How was your day?"

* * *

"Caffrey!" Neal looked up from his doodles that he'd been working on instead of work to see Peter motioning him into his office. As he walked, he wondered what his partner could want. After a long, hard week, last night they had finally solved their latest case. As far as he knew they hadn't gotten a new one yet, but perhaps that was what Peter wanted to talk to him about.

"Yeah, Peter?" Neal asked as he poked his head into the office.

"Sit." The agent replied bluntly as he pointed to the chair in front of his desk. His eyes were narrowed at the con in suspicion.

Holding his hands up, Neal sat. "Whatever it is, I didn't do it. I went straight home and washed June's dog. You can ask her yourself."

Shaking his head, Peter grinned slightly. "You're not in trouble."

"Then, what was with the look?" Neal asked, frowning.

Sighing, the older man tried to think of the best way to go about this. "Neal… you'd consider us friends, right?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"So…" Letting out another sigh, Peter gave up all pretenses. "What's your real name?"

Neal grinned slyly. "Wow. You lasted longer than I thought."

Looking up swiftly in confusion, Peter stared at him. "Huh?"

"Moz called me last night." He responded, chuckling. "He told me you overheard his little story. I figured you'd be interrogating me the second I stepped in the building."

Peter blushed ever so slightly, embarrassed at his own predictability. "Well, it is kind of a big deal. I mean, all this time I've known you and I don't even know your real name?"

Across from him, Neal grinned wider, blue eyes twinkling and Peter knew, just knew, that Neal was laughing at him. Peter frowned. "I feel like I'm missing a joke."

"That's because you are, partner. What does it matter anyway? A rose by any other name would smell as sweet, and a con by any other name would still have an anklet."

Peter rolled his eyes. "It's the principle of the thing! I apparently know everything about you except your name!"

The laughing eyes were back, and it only infuriated the agent more. "Peter, you do _not _know everything about me."

"Oh yeah?"

Chuckling, Neal went about proving his point. "What's my shoe size?"

"Nine and a half." Peter smiled triumphantly.

"How do I take my coffee?"

"Two creams, one sugar."

Neal smiled and leaned back in his chair. "Where did I grow up?"

Peter opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He sat in stunned silence trying to ignore the smug look coating his consultant's face. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Point taken." He looked back up sheepishly. "What are the chances of you just telling me about yourself?"

Musical laughter filled the room. "But that would ruin the fun!"

"Fun?"

"I take great amusement in seeing what lengths you'll go to in order to figure this stuff out."

"So… you wont just tell me?"

"Nope." Neal shook his head. "Not like this at least."

Peter frowned. "Like what?"

But the ex-con was already standing and heading towards the door. As he left, he threw the agent smile over his shoulder. "Sorry, I've got all that pesky paperwork to deal with. See you later." A quick wink and he was gone.

Peter crossed his arms. Neal was challenging him. This was just another game. Peter smiled.

Challenge accepted.

* * *

**And so it begins. From here on, there's no main plot, really. It will be more like a series of semi-connected oneshots of Peter trying to learn more about his beautiful partner. I already have the ending written, I just need to write all that pesky middle stuff. XP Again, reviews always make me happy (even flames because it means my story evoked enough feeling in you to take the time to let me know. ;P). Next chapter should be up later this week along with a separate oneshot I'm finishing up, so till then! ~BFMS**


	4. Never Stray Too Far

Knocking on the door, Peter Burke waited patiently for his consultant to answer. He had been looking into a case and thought he might have finally found something worthwhile. He had tried to call the con, but had only managed to reach his answering machine. Just as he was getting ready to knock again, the agent heard the door being unlocked and a voice came through the wood.

"It's about time! Do you know how long I-" Mozzie stopped short, realizing that the man in front of him was not who he had expected. "Oh. Hello, suit."

"Moz." Peter nodded. "Neal not here?"

"No, and I've been waiting for half an hour! He's usual back by now…" The bald man trailed off, a hint of concern in his voice.

Peter frowned. "Hm. May I come in?"

"I suppose." Mozzie moved aside, allowing Burke to step into the apartment. Sitting at the kitchen table, the two sat in awkward silence.

"So… how's your day been?" The question sounded ridiculous, but Peter honestly had no idea what else to say.

"Er, alright. Um, the weather's been pretty nice lately."

"Yeah, it has."

After a few minutes of painful small talk, the front door finally opened again. Both men visibly sagged with relief.

Peter smiled. "Neal, I've never been so happy to-" stopping short, the FBI agent raised an eyebrow. The ex-con closed the door with one hand, the other curled protectively around a scrawny black cat. Next to Peter, Moz shot out of his chair, backing away from his friend and the feline.

"No! No! Not again, Neal! You promised me you wouldn't do this again!"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Hello to you, too. And last I checked, we don't live together anymore, Mozzie." Smiling, he scratched the cat under the chin. "I named her Midnight."

Looking between the two criminals and the animal, Peter Burke found himself utterly confused. "Uh, Neal? Why do you have a cat?"

Walking into the kitchen, Neal answered, "I found her in an alley a few blocks down." Reaching into one of the cabinets, he pulled out a small silver bowl and placed it and the cat on the ground. Opening a different drawer, he pulled out a bag of cat food, pouring some into the bowl which the cat eagerly began devouring. "Aw, she was starving!"

Peter chuckled and shook his head before returning his attention to the bald man who was currently backed against the opposite wall.

"Neal… why do you have cat food?" Moz asked with a shaking voice.

Raising an eyebrow, Neal turned to him. "For Paris of course."

"Paris?"

As if on cue, a soft meow sounded and a large calico cat made its way out from under Neal's bed.

"Gah!" Moz jumped back, trying to get away from the second creature.

Laughing out loud, Peter sat back down. Giving the second cat a scratch between the ears, he turned back to his partner. "Neal, what's with the cats?"

Before Neal could speak, Moz answered for him. "He _always _does this! Every time he sees an animal on the streets he just _has _to drag it home!"

"Oh?" Peter raised an eyebrow.

Mozzie nodded vigorously. "Yes. I remember the first time he brought some creature in…"

* * *

_Moz leaned back in his chair and sighed, enjoying the rare quiet that had settled upon the small apartment he was currently occupying. Hearing the door unlock and open, he paid no mind, assuming it was simply his protégé and friend. However, the click-clack of claws on the wood floor alerted him to another presence. Opening his eyes, he saw Neal first. The now-nineteen-year-old had changed, his hair shorter and better kempt, his clothes in better condition, and he was not as deathly thin as he had been when the two first met. _

_Glancing down, he saw that the boy had led into the apartment a small brown puppy. Or at least, it looked brown with all the dirt and mud caked on it. Leaping from his chair, Moz immediately demanded, "Neal! What is that?"_

"_It's a puppy." The kid answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. _

_The older man glared. "What is it doing here?"_

"_I found him. Someone just left him out on the street. Isn't that sad?"_

"_Yes, yes, it's very sad. It's also riddled with disease!"_

_Neal rolled his eyes. "Oh please, it's fine!"_

"_Neal, get it out of here."_

_Moz tried to resist as Neal pulled out his saddest, most heart-broken eyes to pull at his heartstrings. "You want me to put him back on the street? When it's so cold out and he hasn't even eaten in who knows how long?"_

_Not even the most hardened man in the world could fight the effect of those blue eyes. Moz crumbled. "Fine. He can stay one night. In __**your **__room! And tomorrow it goes to a shelter!"_

_The smile on the kid was blinding. "Thanks Moz!"_

_As he ran into his room with the puppy, Moz called after him, "But this is the only time!"_

_But of course, it wasn't. A few weeks later, he brought an elderly black lab. After that, a beagle. Then it was a pidgin with a broken wing. It seemed like every few days they had a new animal spending the night in Neal's room, and each time it got harder and harder for Moz to get him to take them to the shelter the next day._

_The final straw came one cool February evening, when Neal walked in with a large cardboard box with 'FREE' written on the side in black sharpie. Moz looked at him suspiciously. "Neal… what is that?"_

_A chorus of meows answered him. Neal immediately set the box down and turned on his most distraught look. "Some, some _person_," he spat out like an insult, "just left an entire litter of kittens out on the sidewalk. They didn't even stay to make sure someone took them all. What if some hawk had come and eaten them!"_

"_A hawk? In New York?"_

"_It could happen!"_

_Just as Moz was about to rebut that remark, a loud 'thump!' interrupted them. Glancing down, they saw that the six kittens had managed to knock the box over, thus freeing themselves. No longer trapped, the animals immediately bolted, scampering towards every corner of the apartment. _

"_NEAL!" Moz screamed before comically jumped up onto a kitchen chair._

"_Come on, Moz, they're harmless!"_

"_Oh, did the government tell you that?"_

"_Come on, I can catch them all faster if you help."_

_Reluctantly, Moz climbed down from his perch. As Neal began picking up a few of the kittens, the small man ran into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a large towel. He carefully approached one of the animals, using the towel to keep from directly touching it._

"_You know I'm going to have to disinfect the whole apartment now. These things are probably crawling with germs and now they've gone and touched things…" Moz continues grumbling as he carried the creature at arms length. However, in his anxiety, he unintentionally gripped it too tight, causing it to hiss and struggle. Twisting in the man's grip, the kitten lashed out, scratching him on his left forearm. Crying out, he immediately dropped the cat, which ran into a corner._

"_Oh God, oh God…" Moz gripped his arm as if he was bleeding to death. _

_Rushing to his friend, Neal tried to pry his arm away. "Let me see." Looking at the wound, the teen nearly laughed. "Moz, it's just a little scratch, it's barely bleeding!"_

_Moz looked at him incredulously. "Um, have you ever heard of cat-scratch fever? I now have it."_

"_Oh please, you're fine."_

"_You'll be eating those words at my funeral, just wait..."_

_

* * *

_

Peter tried to stifle his chuckles. "So… did you die?"

Glaring, Mozzie crossed his arms. "No. But I could have! And after that day I made Neal swear to never bring another animal into the house again!" He said, with a pointed look at his friend.

Sitting on the couch with one cat on his lap and another next to him on the armrest, Neal rolled his eyes. "Mozzie, we don't live together anymore! I didn't think it still applied."

"Of course it still applies! Do you know how much time I spend here? I was here for forty-five minutes today before you got here, and now I learn I've been sharing air with _that_?" He pointed accusingly at 'Paris'. "I am going to go home, shower, and burn my clothes. Good day."

And with that, Moz was gone. The two remaining men chuckled in his absence. Peter stood and moved to sit next to his partner, taking in the two animals, which were purring contently.

"Well this is something I never knew." Neal raised an eyebrow in question, and Peter explained, "In the three years I was chasing you. I never knew you were such an animal lover."

Neal smirked. "What, the FBI never noticed the decreased number of strays in the areas where I stayed?" They both laughed. "I've always loved animals. And I can never find the heart to leave a stray. Guess I can relate or something." The last part was mumbled, but Peter heard and filed it away as another piece of the puzzle that was his partner.

"So," Peter began. "About that case we're working on…"

* * *

**Neal seems like the kind of person who would bring strays home as a kid. And since he is essentially just a big, incredibly handsome kid, I figured it would carry over. ;P I must say, this chapter annoyed me. I had trouble writing it, because it feels so much like a 'filler' chapter. But the thing is, I know I had to put it in. And here's why: You see, to me, it seems unnatural for Peter to decide to learn more about his partner and then a few days later uncover all Neal's deep dark secrets, you know? There has to be a natural build-up. So, I'll probably have one or two more 'light-hearted' chapters like this, where we learn little things about Neal, before I start getting into the bigger, more serious things about his past. Like I said, I have a plan!**

**On a completely separate note, Tuesday's episode: Awesome! I loved Neal giving Peter a lollipop before he realized who he was. Priceless! Although I wont lie, I was kind of disappointed in how Peter finally caught Neal. I don't know, it just seemed too… easy. But, that's just me. And the episode was still good. I especially love that they still left so much mystery to Neal's character, like when he first began his criminal escapades and how he got so good (since he was already semi-established when he met Moz). It leaves a lot of room for the writers to play around and surprise us more later. ;)**

** Okay, Uber-long Author's Note done now. Gimme a week and I'll get the next chapter up, kay? Kiss kiss! ~BFMS**


	5. The Agent and the Hair

"Aw, my hat!"

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose at the sound of Neal's complaint. They had been chasing after one of the usual bad guys when the suspect had pulled on a fire alarm, causing not only an ear grating ringing to go off, but also the sprinkler systems to activate. It had slowed the two partners down slightly, but Peter had managed to tackle and cuff the guy before he got away. Now he was standing in the room, waiting for maintenance to turn off the water that was still raining down on them. Neal was beside him, now looking forlornly at his soaked hat.

The FBI agent rolled his eyes. "I'm sure it'll be fine Neal."

"Yeah, but I probably wont be able to wear it tomorrow." He pouted. Running his hands through his hair, he suddenly paused. "My hair's getting pretty long."

It was true. Seeing his hair wet only accentuated the length it was reaching. The con sighed. "I'll have to take care of that soon."

Finally, the sprinklers were turned off and the two men sagged with relief. "It's about time." Peter mumbled. Looking down at his, luckily waterproof, watch, the agent turned back to Neal. "It's a bit early, but I doubt Hughes will mind if we take care of the paperwork tomorrow."

"Want to see Elizabeth?"

Peter nodded. "I've barely seen her all week."

"Well, let's get going then! I want to get out of these wet clothes."

Laughing, the two men made their way home.

* * *

Leaning back in his chair the next day, Peter logged onto the FBI database that held Neal's tracking information. He doubted he had anything to worry about, but at this point it had simply become a habit to check on Neal in the morning before the ex-con arrived. Looking at the map of New York, Peter saw that after being dropped off in the early evening, the other man had simply stayed at June's all night, and was now almost to the FBI building. Nodding in satisfaction, Peter closed the window and began going through the legal work for the case they had closed the night before.

Roughly fifteen minutes later, the agent's pet convict waltzed in. As suspected, Neal was not wearing his usual hat, probably still trying to dry it without damaging it. Smiling charmingly at everyone he passed, the man made his way to his desk mostly likely to think of ways to avoid paperwork.

Suddenly, Peter did a double take. Neal's hair… was shorter. Not significantly, but it had definitely been trimmed just as the conman had said he wanted. Peter quickly opened the tracking info again. Looking carefully over the information, he saw that everything was in order. Neal hadn't left his apartment, and there was no record of the anklet being turned off at any point.

So how did he get a haircut? Peter thought for a minute. As he pondered, an almost forgotten memory made its way to the forefront of his mind…

* * *

_Peter gasped and panted. He was more out of shape than he thought. But he couldn't afford to stop now. Caffrey was ahead of him, weaving through alleys and crowds in an attempt to loose the agent pursuing him. It hurt Peter's pride to see that the criminal was obviously in much better shape then he was. Nevertheless, he pushed himself forward. _

_Turning into an alley that he had seen the conman duck into, he groaned as he watched him nimbly scale the fire escape on the side of the building. He leaned dejectedly against the wall. He'd never catch him now._

"_What, giving up already?"_

_Peter jerked his head up, and saw Caffrey looking down at him. Even three stories apart, he could see the smirk painted on the forger's face._

_The agent scowled. "I _will _catch you."_

_Laughter rang through the alley. "Of course you will Peter."_

_There was no mocking, no joke in Neal's voice, and Peter frowned in confusion. "Well, I'm glad you realize that."_

"_Of course, that doesn't mean you'll catch me tonight."_

_The laughter was back, and Peter turned red with frustration. Reaching to the ground, he picked up a handful of garbage and chucked it up at the conman. It was childish, he knew, but at the moment he didn't care._

_Neal ducked to the side, narrowly avoiding getting hit in the face. "Hey, watch the hair!" He cried indignantly. _

_Despite himself, Peter laughed. "Oh, I'm sooo sorry." His voice was full of sarcasm. "I wouldn't want to mess up your hundred dollar haircut."_

_The criminal put his hand on his chest in mock offense. "You think this haircut cost a hundred dollars? Peter, I'm hurt. You should know I have much better taste than that."_

"_Oh? What, were your last few crimes needed to cover it?"_

_More laughter, but no answer. Peter cocked his head to the side in genuine curiosity. "So how much did it cost?"_

_Neal smiled down at him. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."_

_Peter opened his mouth to say something else, when suddenly the sound of sirens reached their ears as the backup Peter had called for finally approached. Neal gave the agent a quick smile and a salute, and before Peter could blink he had scaled the final three stories and disappeared._

_

* * *

_

Peter's shook his head, pulling himself out of his thoughts. Determination coursed through him. He had said he would learn more about his partner and he would. By Jove, he was going to find out the cost of that haircut if it was the last thing he did.

Later, Jones would accuse him of simply not wanting to do paperwork, but that was beside the point.

* * *

Peter typed furiously on his computer. He had decided that if Neal hadn't left last night, then he must have gotten someone to come to him. That narrowed down his search quite a bit, since he was pretty sure most chains wouldn't do that. That left independent salons. He did a search of salons in Neal's general area, and found quite a few. Crossing off the salons that charged less than a hundred dollars, Peter was left with three possibilities. Finally, he actually called them. On the second call, he hit the jackpot.

"Hi, I was wondering, do you make house calls?" There was a pause and Peter smiled. "Excellent. And how much would that cost? … Great, thanks. Huh? Oh, no not today, sorry. Have a nice day." As he hung up, agent Burke smiled smugly at the number written down on the paper in front of him.

Score one for Peter.

* * *

About half an hour after Peter's victory, Neal came knocking at his door. "Hey Peter, wanna grab some lunch?"

"Sure."

The two men made there way to a café across the street, chatting and exchanging small talk. As they sat down at their table, Peter nodded towards his partner's hair.

"Nice haircut, by the way."

Neal smiled. "Thanks! It was a bit overdue, I think."

Peter nodded. "So it was what… 287 dollars?" He looked at Neal eagerly, awaiting the shock and awe at Peter's knowledge.

The conman frowned in confusion. "That's an oddly specific number."

"Yes! Because that's how much the Blu Salon charges for their house calls."

Neal looked at the other man with an open mouth, which Peter took for surprise at his accuracy. He continued. "I know you didn't leave June's last night, so I did a little research." He smiled smugly, waiting for a reaction.

...Admittedly, Neal bursting out laughing was not the reaction he was hoping for. Peter's face went red with embarrassment as the con clutched his stomach. Finally, he snapped. "What? What's so funny?"

Taking a few deep breaths, Neal finally managed to control his laughter enough to respond. "_That's _what you've been doing all day? Jeeze, I though we had a new case you were so intent on what you were doing."

"But, I'm right…right?"

Neal shook his head and pat Peter on the shoulder. "Sorry, partner."

"Wait, which part was I wrong about? The place or the price?"

"Everything."

Groaning, Peter dropped his head to the table. After a moment, he looked into his partner's smiling face pleadingly. "Can you _please _just tell me?"

Neal cocked his head to the side. "Why do you want to know so badly, anyway?"

Peter thought about it for a minute before responding hesitantly. "I don't know. I guess it's just curiosity."

Laughing once more, Neal shook his head in sympathy. "Alright, alright. I guess I've gotten enough amusement out of you for one day."

Perking up, the agent leaned forward in anticipation.

"It was free."

…Well that was unexpected. Peter's jaw dropped. "How'd you manage to get a free haircut?"

"Doing it yourself helps."

Peter's jaw practically fell off. "You cut your own hair?"

Neal nodded, desperately holding back his laughter from Peter's response.

"But it looks so…so…." Peter clutched at words until Neal finished it for him.

"Good?"

"Well, yeah!"

"Hm. It's a funny story actually…"

* * *

"_Absolutely not." Neal backed away dramatically._

_Moz rolled his eyes, pointing the scissors in his hand at the boy. "You _need _a haircut." _

_It was true. Moz and Neal had been together for about two months, and the teenager's hair was a little past his shoulders. He was still far too thin, and his clothes looked like they came from a thrift store (because they did), but there was little Mozzie could do about that. The hair on the other hand… "You look like some teenage trouble-maker."_

"_I __**am **__a teenage trouble-maker." Neal stated in exasperation. _

"_Exactly! 'First appearance deceives many'."_

"'_Deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance'."_

"_Hm. Oscar Wilde. Not bad."_

_Neal laughed. "Look, I'm not saying I don't need a haircut. But there is no way in Hell I'm letting you do it."_

"_Well, professional haircuts are expensive. I prefer food, don't you?"_

_The boy shifted nervously from foot to foot. He understood Mozzie's reasoning, he did. But still…_

"_Don't you know anyone else who could do it?" _

"_I'll have you know I am quite capable." _

_Neal raised an eyebrow. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"_

"_If that was a crack at my baldness it is not appreciated." _

"_Look," Neal sighed, "Just… let me take care of it. I wont spend any money, promise."_

"_Fine. But if your hair's not cut by tonight, I'm doing it in your sleep."_

"_Cause that wouldn't be creepy at all." Neal said sarcastically as he walked out the door._

_

* * *

_

_The city was crowded, families and friends bustling about as the afternoon wore on. Unseen in an alley, a teenage boy crouched with a mirror and a pair of scissors. Neal sighed in frustration. Even his charm couldn't convince anyone to give him a free haircut. Business was bad and whatnot. He shakily brought the scissors to his hair. With no clue what he was doing, he feared what his head would look like soon. _

"_Need some help?"_

_Neal jumped, almost stabbing himself with the scissors. Whipping around to face the alley entrance, he saw an older black man smiling at him. Leaping to his feet, the boy stared at him suspiciously. "I'm fine, thanks."_

_Chuckling, the man entered the alley. "Oh, come on now. You didn't look exactly confident just now."_

_Neal mumbled. "Yeah, well I didn't know anyone was looking." _

_Laughing loudly, the man came closer. "Good one, kid! I like you." He looked Neal up and down. "Little rough around the edges though. I can see why you were about to go at it with your hair. Why don't you let me give you a hand?" _

_Neal took a step back, still suspicious. "What, you're gonna give me a haircut?"_

"_Hell no." Seeing the boy's surprise, he continued. "Teach a man to fish, feed him for a day. Teach a kid to cut his own hair, well, he's set for life."_

_Despite himself, Neal cracked a smile. "I don't think I've heard that version."_

"_Well, it's still valid. Now," He took the scissors out of Neal's hand, "Normally you want to do this with your hair wet, but let me show you…"_

_The man continued this way for almost half an hour. He would show the teenager what to do, and then help guide him to do it himself, giving tips ad tricks along the way. By the end, Neal's hair was at a respectable length, going a little past his ears, and he had a head full of knowledge so he could do it again anytime. _

"_Looks good." The man nodded in approval. "You clean up nice, kid. You gonna remember everything I told you?"_

_Nodding, Neal ran his hands through his hair. "Yeah, I've got a good memory."_

"_Good." Glancing at his watch, the man turned to leave. "Well, I should probably get going. Told the wife I'd be home soon."_

"_Thanks a lot, uh… what's your name, anyway?"_

_The man smiled. "You can call me Hale."_

_Neal smiled. "Well, thanks Hale. I appreciate it."_

"_No problem kid. Anytime."_

_And then he was gone._

_

* * *

_

"I've cut my own hair ever since, so I've had a lot of time and practice to get really good. It's a useful skill when you're short on cash but can't afford to look homeless."

Peter shook his head. He never would have guessed. "So you learned to cut hair from some stranger on the street? I'm impressed. You ever see the guy again?"

The agent cringed when he saw the sly smile on his partner's face. "After a few years, yeah."

"I'm going to regret asking this, but where'd you see him?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

Peter groaned jokingly. "Why are all your friends criminals?"

Neal shrugged. "I'm sure they have their reasons. And besides, not _all _my friends are criminals. I know this one guy, Jones, I just _know _you'd love." He said sarcastically.

"Oh, shut it." The two laughed and finally got their lunch. Back at the office, Peter filed away this new piece of information. The conman would never cease to surprise him.

Sitting down, Peter _finally _began working on that pesky paperwork.

* * *

**There you go everyone! Sorry it's a tad late. I had a bit of an issue with writer's block.**

**For those of you who might not remember, Hale had a brief scene in "Point Blank". I liked him, so I decided to give him a bit of love in this chapter. :)**

**Eh, I can't decide how I feel about this chapter. Not bad, I guess, but definitely not the best. I kind of just settled on it... Oh well. Either way, let me know what you guys think! Till next time, ~BFMS**


	6. These Four Walls

"Hold the door!"

Neal's hand shot out between the sliding elevator doors, causing them to pause in their movement before sliding back open. Jones smiled and stepped inside beside the ex-con.

"Thanks man." The door slid closed once more and the elevator began moving steadily upwards.

"No problem. New case?" Neal said hopefully, gesturing at the files clutched in the young agent's hands.

Jones smiled at him sympathetically. "Mortgage fraud. Sorry." He laughed as the other man groaned.

"More? At this rate I'm going to be tempted to steal something just so a more interesting case pops up!"

Smiling, Jones shook his head. "Well, as fun as I'm sure it would be to chase the elusive Neal Caffery, I wouldn't suggest it-" He was cut off. At that moment, the lights in the elevator flickered and a harsh creaking noise filled the space. Within moments, the lights were off, and the elevator had stopped moving.

"Oh God, oh God," Jones leapt forward, blindly stabbing at buttons in a futile attempt to fix whatever had happened.

"Huh." Neal seemed completely unaffected by the new development. "Well that's weird."

"Stay calm Neal, everything's going to be alright." Neal couldn't help but feel like Jones was talking more to himself than the con, but chose not to mention it just yet. "I'm sure this will be fixed in a moment so just stay calm!"

"Uh huh…" pulling out his phone, Neal was pleasantly surprised to see that he still had service inside the malfunctioning machine.

Jones, seeing what he was doing, began rambling even more. "Yes! Good idea, Neal. Call, uh, call 911! No wait, call maintenance! Do you have their number? No? Then we could just, could just-"

"Breath, Jones. In through your nose, out through your mouth." Neal commented nonchalantly, already dialing.

After a few rings, a familiar voice picked up. "Neal?"

"Hey Peter! You busy?"

"No, just filing some paperwork. Where are you anyways? Are you late again?"

"You sound so accusing when you say that. I've been late twice, and once was when you were driving me!"

"Oh, so you're going to blame me?"

"For that time, yes. And all I'm saying is you could give me the benefit of the doubt. Sometimes I'm late because of circumstances that are outside of my control and-"

"NEAL!"

Turning, the man saw Jones staring at him with an incredulous look on his face. Gesturing to their surroundings, Neal immediately understood and returned to his conversation.

"Neal? Was that Jones?"

"Yeah, yeah, he was just reminding me why I called in the first place. We're both going to be late. We're trapped in an elevator."

Jones put his head in his hands at the word 'trapped'. Neal patted him on the shoulder, "Remember to breathe, dude."

"Wait," Peter sounded concerned now. "you're trapped in an elevator? What happened?"

"No clue. Just up and stopped on us. I think we're between the ninth and tenth floors."

He could hear shuffling and movement through the phone as Peter responded. "Alright, I get maintenance to take a look."

"Thanks. And…" Neal glanced at Jones, who was now sitting on the ground with his head resting on his knees. "…could you maybe hurry? I think Jones might be a little claustrophobic."

"On it." Hearing the dial tone, Neal placed his phone back in his pocket and went to sit next to the FBI agent.

Rubbing his friend's back soothingly, Neal asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fine. Just… I've never been too good with small spaces."

"Well, this isn't too bad. I mean, as far as elevators go this one's pretty roomy."

"I know, and it's ridiculous really, but I can't help it."

Neal smiled. "It's okay. Everyone's afraid of something."

Jones looked up at him curiously. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Neal's phone ringing. The con answered quickly. "Hello?"

"Hey, it's me again." Peter. Neal switched the phone to speaker. "The mechanic is looking at it. Says the problem is a simple fix but it'll still take about half an hour to get you guys out again." The senior agent heard a groan. "You guys gonna be able to hold up?"

Neal looked questioningly at Jones, who smiled and shook his head. "I'll be fine. I wont be happy, but I'll be fine."

"Good." Peter responded. "What about you Neal?"

Confusion painted the criminal's features. "What about me?"

"Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course."

Jones looked at him strangely. "I don't get it. Aren't ex-cons practically known for being claustrophobic? Why aren't you freaking out?"

Neal shrugged. "That's just a stereotype. And I've never had a problem with small spaces. When I was little, I used to hide in my closet a lot."

"Why?" Peter asked. Neal had almost forgotten that the older agent was still listening. Tilting his head to the side, the artist took a moment to consider how much he wanted to reveal, if anything at all. Finally, he shrugged again and started speaking. They were his friends, after all.

* * *

_It started simply enough. He was three years old, and there was a storm outside. He had no problem with the thunder, the low rumbling more soothing than scary, but the lightning was the worst. With each flash of light, shadows would appear throughout the room, turning innocent toys into frightening monsters._

_He wanted his mommy, he wanted her to hold him and sing to him until he could fall asleep. But his parents' room was all the way down the hallway, and he was too scared to go all by himself in the dark. So, quickly making up his mind, he scurried off his bed and into his small closet._

_There wasn't much there. A few jackets were hanging, but he kept most of his clothes in his dresser, and his toys were in a chest next to his bed. The space was comforting. The door blocked out most of the flashes of light from the storm, and in the darkness there was no shadows. He was asleep within minutes._

_

* * *

_

_As he grew older, he honed his skills at hiding. Small for his age, he had no problem slipping into the space between the sports shed and the gym at school to escape from bullies. He would curl up in cabinets during games of hide and seek. But the closet was still his safe place._

_His parents started fighting when he was eight, and by the time he was ten they were going at it almost every night. No matter how many times he told himself that he was being stupid, that he wasn't a baby any more, that he should be stronger than this, he still got scared whenever it happened. _

_There was just something so __**wrong**__, about the way his father's voice, normally so low and gentle, would shake the house with his yelling. And how his mother's voice, which he was use to being so soft and which sang him songs at night, would shriek and scream. They sounded so angry._

_And so he would curl up in his closet. The door would muffle their hateful words, and in the small space he could see everything. There was no place for anyone or anything to hide. He was certain in his safety. _

_Sometimes, after the screaming had stopped, his mother would come to his room and call for him._

"_Baby?" The first time, it took her a few minutes to find him, but once she did, the tears that she thought had stopped started anew. "Oh, sweetie…" And her son looked up at her with his big blue eyes, reached up, and tugged her hand. Soon, they were both curled up in his closet, his mother's voice soft and singing again, and they both took a few minutes to just feel safe. _

_

* * *

_

"…not to mention, small spaces come in handy as an art thief." Neal smirk slyly, "Or so I've heard. Sometimes if you're being chased you just have to throw yourself into the first available space, and you can't afford to freak out or make noise. Besides, if a space is small, it means no one can get in without you knowing, so you don't have to worry about sneak attacks."

Jones was looking at Neal with a mixture of surprise and something else that the con couldn't put his finger on, while Peter had gone silent on the other end of the line.

Finally, Peter spoke hesitantly. "So… what did your parents fight about?"

Neal raised an eyebrow, and was about to respond when the elevator suddenly lurched. Jones let out a small shriek before the lights flickered back on and the machine began moving up once more. The ex-con smiled. "That's a story for another day, partner."

The two men in the elevator stood up, standing side by side again and sighing in relief. "So you managed to survive, eh Jones?"

Laughing, the other man shook his head. "Yeah, yeah. You're story actually helped a lot."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I realized something." Jones smiled. "Small spaces aren't nearly as scary when there's someone waiting for you on the other side, you know?"

For a moment, the image of his mother flashed in Neal's mind. But just then, the elevator doors opened, revealing Peter smiling at the both of them.

"Yeah," Neal smiled softly, "I know what you mean."

* * *

**Holy crap! I am so so SO sorry this took so long to update! School's been crazy lately, and I just couldn't find the time. XP I'm on spring break now though, so I'm gonna do my best to get a lot of writing done, this story included. **

**As far as this chapter goes, I'm actually okay with how it turned out. I'm starting to ease into the more serious stuff, most specifically Neal's family/ childhood. Let me know what you think so far! (Good, bad, worst, FLAMING BANSHEES!)**

**Sorry again, and thanks to those who haven't given up on me yet! xoxo ~BFMS**


	7. Where Angels Tread

"Hey Peter, how's it going?"

The FBI agent stiffened. That was not Neal's casual, 'how's it going'. That was his, I'm-trying-to-be-casual-but-I really-want-something-from-you-so-I'm-gonna-try-to-charm-you-up-first 'how's it going'. Well, Burke wasn't having any of that. Lowering the file he had been looking through, he found himself face-to-face with the sly conman.

"Alright, what do you want?"

Neal pulled out his most blatantly baffled and innocent look. "Why Peter, I'm appalled you would assume I have ulterior motive just from a simple greeting."

"Neal." Peter said in a firm tone.

Signing, the younger man caved. "Will you go to the museum with me this weekend?"

Peter furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"There's a William Adolphe Bouguereau exhibit going on and I want to see it, but it's outside my radius."

"Bouguereau? What's so special about him?"

Neal smiled, a nostalgic, sentimental look on his face. "He painted 'First Kiss'. The picture of the two cherubs? It's my favorite painting."

Suddenly, the agent's head snapped up, eying the ex-con in front of him suspiciously. Noticing the look, Neal huffed indignantly, "What?"

"Did you… you know…"

Neal rolled his eyes. "No, I don't know. Mind filling me in on why you're suddenly all… weird?"

"Oh come on, Neal." Peter sid, knowingly, "You honestly expect me to believe that in all your years as an art thief-"

"Supposed art thief." Neal interrupted.

"in all those years," Peter continued, "You never went after you 'favorite painting'? If I had experts look into it would we find your signature somewhere on that canvas?"

"No."

It was said so simply, it took the FBI agent by surprise. "Really?" He asked, still skeptical.

Neal paused, for a moment just staring at Peter as though looking for something in his eyes. Whatever it was, he must have found it, because he finally blinked and said, "Can I tell you a hypothetical story?"

Peter sighed. "Hypothetical" stories always involved something illegal. But still, his curiosity got the better of him. "Sure."

Slowly, a crooked smile grew across the conman's face.

* * *

_The museum was beautiful on it's own, the architecture giving the whole building a grand, castle-like feel, especially to the small, wide-eyed eight-year-old wandering the floor. Eyes darting across the numerous paintings and statues, a woman walked up behind him. Long ringlets of deep brown hair cascaded down her back, and bright blue eyes shone with happiness and she gentle grasped the child's hand. "Find anything you like, sweetie?"_

_Grinning, the little boy nodded, and began pulling his mother across the room until they were standing in front of a painting of two cherubs, a boy with small, feathery angel wings, and a girl with butterfly wings like a pixie. The boy was giving the girl a gentle kiss on the cheek. The older woman smiled in approval. "Ah, 'First Kiss' by William Adolphe Bouguereau. An excellent choice, baby." Humming thoughtfully, she began pulling her child back towards the exit. _

_The boy whined. "Can't we stay a little longer?"_

"_Sorry, baby, but we have to get home for dinner." Stopping, she kneeled down next to the boy, whispering conspiratorially. "But I tell you what, after your birthday next week, you can look at that painting whenever you want, okay?"_

_Effectively appeased, the child smiled, and allowed himself to be led away. The week passed, and the boy spent his days scribbling in his notebooks, drawing messy scrawls of little children with wings. When his birthday finally came, his father kissed him on the forehead and made him pancakes, promising to bring back something special when he got home from work. When he finally left, the boy's mother led him upstairs into her studio. The boy felt immensely proud. His mommy never let _anyone_, not even daddy, into her studio. The woman smiled. "I have a present for you." Walking into the back of the room, she unlocked the walk-in closet. It was filled with art supplies of all kinds, and in the back was a large tarp covering something. Stepping forward, she revealed the item and the little boy gasped._

_It was the painting he had seen in the museum, the pretty picture of the two little angels. _

_Leaning down and hugging him, his mother spoke quietly into his ear. "It's yours, baby. But it has to stay in here, and daddy can't ever know about it, okay? If you ever want to look at it, just tell me. It has to be our secret."_

_The boy just smiled and hugged his mommy back, thanking her endlessly while gazing at the beautiful picture in awe._

* * *

"…so, your mom stole that painting?"

Neal smirked fondly, "Hypothetically."

Despite himself, Peter smirked as well. "So it'd be her signature on it."

There was another pause, and Neal cocked his head to the side. "Well, hypothetically," Peter snorted, and Neal smiled before continuing, "if it was me, and let's say, something happened to my mom…" the smile left Peter's face as he watched a flicker of sadness flit through the conman's eyes before quickly disappearing. "…then I would go back later and switch the paintings back. Because I'd rather have the one my mom painted, with her signature." A beat. "And then I'd go and see the real one whenever I could." He looked up at the older man, his expression carefully, perfectly neutral. "So will you go with me?"

For a moment, the two men studied each other, the new information hanging between them, loose ends and gaping holes and endless _questions _floating there, begging the story to be completed…

"Sure, Neal."

…another day.

Blue eyes sparkled t the younger man smiled. "Great! So I'll drop by tomorrow. And you should invite El, too! She has good taste, she'd enjoy it. Oh, an try to at least be semi-presentable, I don't-"

"Yeah, yeah." Peter cut him off, smiling as Neal tipped his hat and left the room, leaving his partner to wonder just what picture all these puzzle pieces were making.

* * *

**Meeeh, not my best... I'm super, super sorry about the ridiculous delay! Life's been... well, life. Thanks to Goddess-of-Genius though, for reminding me that this story even exists. XP I'm going to try to update at least semi-regulary again. Now that I'm getting into the more serious stuff, it'll probably go a bit faster.**

**Hmmm, there's something about this chapter I just _don't like, _but I can't figure out what! If any of you figure it out, please review and let me know! Feel free to be as harsh as you please! Thanks for reading and I'm sorry again for the long wait! ~BFMS**


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